


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by Lucyemers



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Can be read as pre-slash if you want, Christmas Fluff, Concussions, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, My First Work in This Fandom, fandot summer christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 17:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11445861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/pseuds/Lucyemers
Summary: " 'I’m just glad you’re…' his voice trailed off. Just glad you’re still you, he thought, that even while your head is bleeding on my shoulder you can hurl barbs at me like any other non Christmas, non emergency kind of day."





	I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/gifts).



> For Linguini who asked for Douglas with a broken leg or Douglas with his daughters at Christmastime.  
> So here you go. Why not both?  
> I've borrowed your Emily. I hope you don't mind ;)

“You know I don't think I ever really thought you were susceptible to normal injury.” There was a low growl in the passenger seat next to him and, despite his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Martin was relieved to hear Douglas rise to the taunting, even if it did come in the form of a low guttural noise of protest instead of eloquent repartee, it was better than what he'd been dealing with just after getting him into the seat: shallow breathing that signaled that he was close to passing out beside him.

When he'd gotten the call from Douglas in the early evening on Christmas Eve he'd thought for half a second that he was being invited out to some wild Christmas pub crawl. But then he'd remembered that Douglas didn't drink. He’d heard a desperate ragged gasp just before Douglas had broken the silence with, “Martin...the house....come...please?” He was clearly in a lot of pain and sounded all too discombobulated. If Martin hadn’t been worried before he certainly had been then. Especially since he’d heard Douglas Richardson direct the word “please” at him. 

When he’d arrived at Douglas’s house in his van, he’d rung the doorbell and waited, fighting a terrible, sick feeling in his stomach as he’d heard a sort of grating, dragging sound and couldn’t help but remember Christmas time in school, reading about Jacob Marley dragging his ponderous chain behind him. 

When the door swung open the man lunging toward him might as well have been a ghost for how terribly white he was. It had clearly taken all this strength to push the door open, and he was toppling forward so that Martin had no choice but to grab him round the shoulders in a futile attempt at holding him up, then quickly sink to the ground, Douglas nearly landing on top of him. 

They’d sat panting, snowflakes falling quietly around them, Douglas resting his head on Martin’s shoulder, leaning back into him as soon he’d registered they hit the ground, eyes closed, his face glazed over with a kind of miserable surrender. There was a nasty cut running the length of his temple that sent the note of disconcerting confusion that had been in Douglas’s voice over the phone throbbing through Martin’s head once more, and made him suspect concussion, in addition to the rabidly swelling leg that he’d clearly been dragging behind him en route to the door. 

Martin hesitated before softly grasping his shoulder and whispering, “Douglas?” His brow furrowed and he cracked his eyes open, taking a moment too long to focus on Martin. “Mmmm?”, he murmured.

“Douglas?” Martin repeated, squeezing his shoulder a bit harder. “You’ve hurt your leg”, he replied lamely, stating the obvious, hoping that he’d get some sort of real response this time as his heart started to beat faster than normal. “And you’ve hit your head…?” 

At this Douglas raised a hand to his face and gingerly prodded his forehead. “Damn…”, he breathed in weary surprise as he stared for a bit too long at his own fingers as they came away stained red. 

It was the first word Martin heard him utter since he got there and it wasn’t great, but Martin would take it. “Douglas, look at me!” He shifted around, gently repositioning Douglas so he was leaning against the doorframe as he attempted to meet his eyes while they were still sharp with focus. “You’ve hit your head?” he repeated. 

With a forced concentration that dripped with pain and bitterness Douglas answered, “Whyever would you think that, Martin?” 

Shit, Martin thought. He’s really concussed. “Well, because...”, Martin started weakly.

“Could it possibly be because I’m bleeding from the head?!” Douglas’s words rang out angrily and the effort seemed to leave him woozy. As he started to list to the side Martin quickly grabbed his shoulder to keep him from tipping over and breathed a shaky, “brilliant”. 

“I’m sorry, it was Martin that I called? Not Arthur?” Douglas murmured beside him.

“No, sorry,” he returned quickly, “I’m just...glad you’re alright”. 

“I’m most definitely not alright.” 

“No, no, course not, sorry. I’m just glad you’re…” his voice trailed off. Just glad you’re still you, he thought, that even while your head is bleeding on my shoulder you can hurl barbs at me like any other non Christmas, non emergency kind of day. 

“Martin”, said Douglas taking a tight breath and not bothering, Martin couldn’t help but notice, to lift his head from where it was drooping to his shoulder. “You’re a man with a van. You specialize in hauling things into a van then transporting them from one place to the next. What I need you to do now is haul me into the van and deliver me to the hospital.” 

So Martin had hauled a very dizzy Douglas into his van, and managed to jar his (almost certainly broken) leg a few time in the hauling process, which had lead to Douglas very nearly passing out. Consequently Martin was driving a bit faster than he should. He’d had enough trouble hauling a conscious Douglas. He doubted he’d do any better with an unconscious one. But he’d made a little headway with the teasing, so he kept it up, feeling in the midst of an odd role reversal. He was definitely used to being the one being teased rather than the other way round. 

“So how does a Sky God such as yourself, who routinely flies a tin can of an aircraft round the world manage to trip and fall while...what? Trimming the tree or...or serving wassail to the carolers or something?” His voice was shaking as he only just made it through the yellow light. He couldn’t help thinking that his turn of phrase and the intonation sounded just a bit like the man sitting beside him. In the back of his brain he tried not to admit how thrilling it was. 

“It was a plane crash”, Douglas said through clenched teeth. 

“A plane crash?” Speeding down the interstate was probably not the best time for Martin to turn round in his seat in astonishment. He’d been expecting his over the top jibe to win him more growling or maybe even a witty retort, but dammit if Douglas didn’t have him worried again. This time with potential delusions. 

“Yes, and I’d just as soon avoid a car crash today as well”, Douglas snapped.

Martin turned back to the road just in time to slam on the breaks for a stop sign.

__________

After what seemed like an excruciatingly long sit in the waiting room a nurse arrived to help Douglas into a wheelchair and take him back for an examination. 

“Mr. Richardson?” she verified after he was settled into the chair. “And this is?” 

“Martin”, Douglas finished before Martin could get a word in. 

He was all set to argue that he really needed to go with Douglas. (If the man thought he’d been injured in a plane crash Martin really ought to be there to tell them otherwise. It seemed important that the doctor be aware of the state of confusion that seemed to be accompanying the concussion.)

“He’ll be coming with me,” Douglas’s smooth, composed tones, clearly at odds with how much pain he was in, clearly at odds with...everything, all the stubborn, supposed self sufficiency that was so distinctly Douglas, left Martin gaping. But what left him blushing was the soft, but nonchalant way Douglas put a hand to his arm affectionately squeezing as he said it. 

“Yes!” he sputtered. “I’m…” he faltered. 

“Yes?” prompted the nurse.

“I’m...going...with him? I mean..yes, yes, I am.” He finished.

“Great,” the nurse remarked, blinking a bit exasperatedly at all these awkward preliminaries holding everything up.

After Douglas had been deposited in a bed and the curtain drawn Martin watched him knead his forehead with his eyes squeezed shut, while taking deep slow breaths. 

“Right...um...what was...what was that all about?”

“What was what about?” Douglas replied in the midst of a concentratedly measured exhale. 

“He’s coming with me?” he asked. 

“Not my first concussion...well, first one in quite some time, but they won’t let you go unless they think you have someone to observe you for the next several hours.” He let his hand drop and managed to give Martin a kind of apologetic grimace before pulling his mobile out of his pocket and squinting at the screen. “My daughter Verity is bringing my other daughter Emily to my house in about an hour.. First time since Emily was born that I’ve managed to wheedle, coax and bribe my way into convincing their mothers that the three of us ought to be able to spend Christmas together.” Taking a shaky breath he handed the phone over to Martin. “Find Verity’s number in there will you and give it back to me.”

Martin took the phone and pulled up the contacts screen. “You know, Douglas if you’re having trouble focusing your eyes on your phone screen maybe you really should have someone stay with you while you recover. Clearly your leg’s broken as well. It’s not like you’ll really be able to get around in your two story house.” 

“Martin, look I’m flattered that you want to spend your holiday playing nursemaid to your first officer, but don’t you have Christmas plans of your own?”

“I...no I scheduled a few last minute van deliveries and won’t be able to make it to Wokingham for a few days.” He could see Douglas’s eyebrows crease a bit with pity and yet he continued saying, “It was either take a few extra van jobs or go home empty handed, and I did actually want to bring Christmas gifts this year. So, it’s really not any trouble”, he said abruptly before Douglas’s pity could deepen. 

“Look, I appreciate the thought, Martin, but Verity’s seventeen she can handle it.”

“What, helping you up and down the stairs? Is she a seventeen year old weight lifter?”

“Martin, find her bloody number, press call and give me the phone!”

Martin sighed and, god help him, did as he was told. When he made sure it was ringing on the other end he handed it back to Douglas who was looking decidedly worse than just a moment ago, but still managed to snatch the phone from him, his eyes brightening as he said, “Hello, Darling, whereabouts are you? Well that’s...closer than I thought you’d be. And you’re...on your way... to Emily's Mum’s?” He gritted his teeth as his face went a shade paler and he cast his eyes toward Martin in a bit of a panic, “Listen, Verity, hang on a moment. Martin, bin!” Martin was on his feet, bin in hand, as quick as possible, and they managed a trade off just in time. Martin winced in sympathy as Douglas heaved, and escaped out the curtain to give him a bit of privacy. 

He looked down at the phone in his hand and then put it to his ear before he could talk himself out of it. “Hi, Verity?” 

There was a moment’s silence before a very slow and confused, “...Dad?” 

“Oh, no. You’re Dad’s a bit...indisposed at the moment.” 

“Yes...I heard. Sorry...who is this?”

“Oh, I’m Martin Crieff, I’m your father’s copilot.” 

“Captain.”

“What?”

“I know who you are. I’ve heard all about you. You’re the captain though, right?”

“Oh...yes...as a matter of fact I am. He told you that?”

“Of course”, she replied impatiently. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Oh...no reason.”

“Martin, what’s wrong with Dad? He sounded ill.”

“Not ill exactly…” Martin paused. How was he going to explain this as yet unexplained to him supposed plane crash.

“Oh…” he could hear her take in a sharp breath, “he’s not...I mean it’s been ten years, but...”

“Oh, no, no, no, nothing like that.” Though as he said it he realized he didn’t actually know whether it was true. But Douglas was lucid enough for the most part, and the few momentary lapses could be chalked up to concussion, and this was enough to make Martin relatively certain. “But he’s had some sort of accident and I’m afraid we’re in the hospital. Looks like he’s broken his leg and has a concussion. He still really keen on having the two of you come for Christmas. I offered to stay but--”

“Oh, thank god!” she cut him off. 

“But he--”

“That would be loads of help, Martin! Thank you so much!”

“Martin, give me the phone!” Douglas called weakly from the other side of the curtain. 

“I mean, Emily’s a handful, especially at Christmas, and I don’t mind helping with her at all or, you know, cooking and things, but I can’t manage to help him with the stairs in that house, or you know, in out of the bath and all that..” she faltered a bit awkwardly. “Listen I’m just picking Emily up from her Mum’s now. Ring me when you’re leaving the hospital. Until then I’ll do my best to engineer a Christmas miracle by talking to that woman longer than I can stand. Alright, just pulled into the driveway. I’ve got to go or she’ll think I’m toking up in the car or something”, he could almost hear the eye roll in her voice. “But listen, you’re a lifesaver, really! Talk to you soon. Bye.” 

___

After Douglas’s leg was set and plastered and both he and Martin had smiled good naturedly and assured the doctor that Martin would be there through the next twenty-four hours to make sure he didn’t take a turn for the worse and to see that he kept his leg elevated, Martin drove them home, phoned Verity and helped Douglas over the threshold, down the hallway and finally to the sofa in the living room. 

“Well...there you are”, he said gesturing toward the hardwood in front of the Christmas tree, “plane crash”. Martin dropped down on the sofa next to him and smiled at the half dozen tiny airplanes strewn about in all directions in front of the tree. Douglas's exhaustion was catching and Martin leaned back on the sofa heavily before saying, “wait, what?”

Douglas opened his eyes, wearily and made a sweeping gesture towards the toys on the floor saying in a in a high voice perfectly suited to the reading of a Dick and Jane book to a small child, “planes” he said and then crashed his hand down saying, “crash!.”

“So... you're saying you tripped over a bunch of toy airplanes?”

“Well that sounds so much less glamorous when you say it like that”, Douglas sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes again.

“Head still feeling rotten?”

“Mmmm”, Douglas murmured noncommittally. 

“Do you...want me to get you some paracetamol or I think the doctor gave you something a bit stronger?”

“Mmm? Oh, no listen you've done far too much already. Verity will be here soon and--” he froze. “Damn”, he sat up abruptly and winced,“ it's going on eleven and I should have phoned her as we were leaving the hospital.”

“She's on her way”, Martin said serenely. “I've taken care of it.”

“Oh... That's very good of you.”

“So I'll... Just get you some pain meds and tea then?”

“Well...If you're making some”, Douglas replied, hesitance giving way to relief as he leaned back into the sofa.

As Martin found his way to the kitchen he had to keep himself from chuckling at the turn of events that had made him happy to be making Douglas tea. He supposed he really was only human. 

Soon Martin returned sporting two mugs bearing Disney characters clad in Christmas apparel. “Do you want to be Mickey or Donald?” he asked.

“Well Donald does have the hat”, Douglas replied, reaching for the Mickey mug.

“So...I could be wrong...but…I think you might be a bit too old for Disney mugs and toy airplanes.” 

“They’re Emily’s. Or they will be. Father Christmas had organized them very meticulously under the tree. It’s just that the jolly old idiot seemed to have forgotten that under the tree is also rather underfoot.” He scowled at the cast on his leg elevated on the coffee table. “She’s in a bit of an airplane phase just now.” 

“I wonder why!” Martin replied. Douglas gave him perhaps the most genuine smile Martin had ever seen cross his face. It was so full pride, which was not something that Douglas was never in short supply of, but Martin could tell this was of an altogether different sort. He set his ridiculous mug down on the coffee table before offering, “would you like me to set the airplanes right?”

“You’d have to do it pretty quick. They should be here any minute.”

“Well Douglas, I hope I don’t sound too much like Arthur, but you know I’m basically an expert at moving planes.”

“You know, I had them set just so.”

“Well I know I’m the captain...but...I think as far as these planes are concerned you’re in charge.” 

______

And so the airplanes were nestled under the tree with care when both Richardson girls arrived a few minutes later. Before Verity could even maneuver Emily’s arms out of her coat she was running across the room to climb into her father’s lap remarking, “It is so, so, many hours past my bedtime, Daddy!” She froze mid-hug, a look of terror crossing her face as she said, “But Father Christmas will know! He might not stop here because I’m still awake!” 

“He’s come and gone, Ems”, said Douglas smoothing her hair calmingly and pointing towards the tree. “There’s plenty to open tomorrow morning, but there’s a few unwrapped for right now”  
She gaped at the tree, open mouthed before scrambling to the floor and beginning a thorough inspection of the planes. 

Verity, who had finished hanging the coats and putting their gifts beneath the tree through the commotion, planted a kiss on her father’s cheek and perched on the edge of the coffee table. “How are you, Dad?” Martin had never met either of Douglas’s daughters before, but they were each unmistakably his in different ways. He couldn’t help but see the mischievous glint in Emily’s eyes when she smiled or the easy confidence that Verity carried with her. 

He brushed off her concern. “I’m all the better now you’re both here. Verity this is Martin”, he remarked suddenly as if just remembering Martin was still there. 

“Hello”, she extended her hand for a very firm handshake. “And I’m sure Dad’s all the better since you got here.”

“Martin!” Emily had perked up from her airplanes when she’d heard his name and was running back to the couch, an airplane in one hand and a much loved stuffed rabbit in the other. “You landed the plane after that goose ran into it! Dad said it was really, really dangerous!” 

“Oh…” Martin could feel himself blushing. “It all worked out fine in the end.” 

“Here was your airplane”, she raised the plane high over her head and Martin could hear her voice ramping up for a performance not unlike he’d heard her father’s do so many times before. “And here”, she lifted her Rabbit into the air, “Was the goose.” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Pretend Posey is a goose and not a rabbit”, she commanded them. “And the goose flew into the plane”, she made them collide spectacularly. “And then Martin landed the plane”, she raised the plane higher in the air and did a few loops before depositing it safely onto the coffee table. “And the goose…” her eyes looked a bit sad for a moment before she firmly concluded, “went to the hospital where they mended it’s broken wing”. She set the goose rabbit down gently on the cast on Douglas’s leg. “Like Daddy”, she finished before burrowing into his chest as he pulled an arm around her. 

“I know it’s late, but I’ve promised someone hot chocolate and a Christmas film”, Verity raised her eyebrows in question to her Dad. 

“Pleeeeasse?”, Emily crooned from against her father’s chest. “Father Christmas has already come so we don’t really have to go to bed”, she reasoned. Douglas made a poor show of hesitating before giving in and Verity went off to make the hot chocolate while Douglas asked Martin to queue up the DVD, and, Martin couldn’t help but notice, didn’t mention him leaving once. 

____

When Scrooge had gone through his transformation and the credits were rolling, Verity and Martin were left awake with Emily curled up in her father’s arms and Douglas as fast asleep as she was. “I’ll get this one to bed if you’ll take that one”, Verity said, stifling a yawn and beginning to take Emily gently into her arms. Before Martin could wake Douglas to start their long painful ascent to the bedroom she met his eyes sincerely, saying, “Thanks, Martin. Really, I don’t know what Dad would do without you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to FractionallyFoxtrot and Linguini for running the Fandot Summer Christmas. It was a lot of fun! Y'all gave me a deadline so that I would finally write something with a bit of length for this fandom. I'm very grateful!


End file.
